The same old swansong
by Cyborgscouse
Summary: It wasn't meant to end like this, not with Voldemort grinning at you, Harry's lifeless body in Hagrid's arms and you in tears once again, over the Boy-Who-Lived


**Disclaimer:** Do people seriously think I own Harry Potter. No, no they don't.

**A/n:** Just a little oneshot I couldn't get out of my is the first time I've wrote something like this, so let me know if it's a load of shit ahaha

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_'Harry Potter is dead' _

The words seem wrong when you hear them, completely wrong. Yet Voldemort's lipless smile couldn't have spoken of a greater truth as he stared across at you, and the rest of Hogwarts' line of protection. How else could he be stood before you, with Death Eaters behind him, and laying lifeless in Hagrid's arms if it wasn't the truth?

You aren't sure who the broken sob comes from as everyone is seemingly given a minute to take in the body of your saviour. All you know is that you can't look anymore, and find yourself taking a half step closer to and behind Ron. He doesn't react but you don't except him too either, not when everyone's gaze is still focused on Harry and Hagrid.

It seems strange that the Boy-Who-Lived doesn't look any different than he did thirty minutes ago; you had always thought a dead body would have appeared completely foreign. Though if it weren't for Harry's body not raising and falling with each breath, you would have thought he was simply sleeping. A voice in the back of your head mocks you, for grasping onto straws.

You're too caught up in the horrors that are going to unfold once Voldemort's brief reprieve expires, as well as the heartbroken tears filling your eyes, to hear Draco's name being called. It's only when the young Death Eater knocks into you, do you realise that he hadn't been standing on the opposite side of the invisible line, which had been drawn so many years ago. You can't miss the hesitation forming on his face and in his posture as he stares out at the Dark Lord; neither can you blame him for it. Though it seems strange, when a sense of dread and fear fills his eyes, as he refuses to leave the safety of your larger group.

"Draco, come." Lucius' voice no longer holds the contempt in it, which you'd heard so many times before. Neither does it hold the demanding tone which would have left question, that this was an order. Instead the elder wizard's tone is pleading with his son, begging for him to join the side that he shouldn't have any questions about. You briefly wonder who Lucius is more worried will be punished if Draco doesn't do what he's told, himself or his son.

A sigh to your left, signals that the wizard in question is all too aware that he doesn't have any choice, and you can't blame him for that either. What choice does he have, other than to die during the massacre as what is left of the Order try to hold Voldemort off; whilst the rest escape. Draco pauses once again, and you doubt even his family could deny the way he was staring at Harry's body. The all too familiar hatred isn't there anymore, instead there's only a fleeting look of sadness and longing. Ron grabs your hand, as you wonder if Draco is realising his one chance to escape his life died the second Harry had walked into the forest to meet Voldemort.

Everyone's escape died, the second he made that decision to face the darkest wizard in a century. Despite the dread filling your heart, you had always known this was a real possibility as soon as you realised Harry was a Horcrux. So many times you had wanted to tell him what you knew, during your mission. But then he had turned to you, with so much hope in his eyes as he spoke about finally destroying Voldemort and letting everyone live a safe life. The irony wasn't missed on you, that Harry had known, for probably longer than you had, that he would have to die for you to see that future. He'd kept it to himself though, no doubt for the same reasons you had done. Yet what hurt more than Harry knowing he was going to die for all that time, was that he knew, you knew what he was, and hadn't said a word.

Neville was talking, or he was trying to convince everyone that they could still win this war, even without Harry. They couldn't. You knew they couldn't, not when the only person destined to defeat Voldemort was dead.

There had been too many nights to count in that tent, when Harry had been asleep, and were you had read book after book on Horcrux's. Only one answer had ever been the same, you didn't remove a Horcrux from something; you destroyed it, container and all. What reason would a witch or wizard who created one have for removing it? The soul fragment would simply vanish into the ether, and they would be made mortal once again. Back then a part of you had vehemently denied it, had thought it hadn't meant anything. That was until you saw the remnants of the locket, and then the cup and finally the diadem. Each container had been destroyed, or warped beyond belief following the destruction of the Horcrux they held inside.

Harry's body was softer than the gold used to make the locket or cup, neither was he as durable as the diadem. If they hadn't been able to endure Voldemort's soul being destroyed then how could he? He was a teenager made out of flesh and blood, how could he survive having his very being ripped apart, to remove a poison which had been in him for sixteen years? From the day Voldemort had killed his parents he had never had a chance. From that day on, he'd been a shell housing part of someone else, in an effort to obtain immortality.

That hurt too, thinking of Harry as a container which had house part of Voldemort's soul and nothing more, had been forced to cultivate it his entire life. You knew now that it had grown inside of him as he grew up, twisted his personality after Voldemort's resurrection and he had seen fit.

Yet at the same time, it had allowed him to do extraordinary things. Find the Basilisk and open the Chamber of Secrets in his second year, generate the magical power to fight off a hundred Dementors in his third. The most impressive of all, was that it had allowed Harry to match Voldemort in a show of power during the Tri-Wizard-Tournament in their duel, as he had kept the serpentine wizard to a standstill.

Your parents couldn't come into your room anymore when you were scared, and open up the cupboard door to show you that there weren't any monsters living in there. Because now you knew, once that door opened there were hundreds more waiting, and the monsters behind all of them were real.

Those monsters had shown you that your childish fairytales, of a hero killing the villain and getting their happily ever after. Were nothing short of just that, fairytales.

The world wasn't a fairytale with powerful wizards and evil stepmothers who would always be conquered. In the real world the heroes died, and they did so far too often. That was why, even though it wasn't meant to end like this, with Voldemort triumphant and Harry dead at his feet; you had always known it would.

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**A/n 2: **This was originally my attempt at a one!shot, based on how Hermione would have realized Harry was a Horcrux when they were alone in the tent. Instead it turned into...well this...


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